


Everything Except the Cat

by madam_lit_nerd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But Cas is a stepbrother, Cinderella Elements, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, No Smut, Shapeshifter Dean Winchester, Step-siblings, Warlock Dean Winchester, cas’s best friend is a cat, former Cas/hannah, ugly stepsister POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_lit_nerd/pseuds/madam_lit_nerd
Summary: Castiel shifted his head, just enough to look for that voice, and had to swallow down the gasp that threatened to escape when he found the beautiful man standing right next to him.The ruckus of the bakery faded away. He felt himself being pulled into those brilliant green eyes. He’d never seen that rosy blush this close, those plush lips that parted on a soft exhalation as Cas’s gaze flickered oh-so-briefly to them.“I’m sure your judgment will be best in this matter, Monsieur Winchester,” Cas replied hoarsely.—Remember that prompt about a shapeshifter cat and a competition to catch it? Throw in some Cinderella elements, but from the POV of the ugly stepbrother who got left behind...and that’s this story.
Relationships: Castiel & Hannah (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Everything Except the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Cas decides at one point to just stop eating, but it does not work out for him at all. It’s not an eating disorder, but I felt it should be mentioned. 
> 
> As for Dean’s name, M. is the abbreviation for Monsieur, so M. Winchester can be read as Monsieur Winchester.

Cas wandered the crowded streets of the market, past the cacophony of colorfully overflowing stands, through the narrow aisles thronged with townspeople. He’d occasionally pause to squeeze a ripened tomato or eye a slab of meat, but he never spoke. He never made direct eye contact. 

In turn, no one spoke to him, no one looked at him. Mothers hurried their children from his path as glowering vendors begrudgingly accepted his gold for their wares. 

It didn’t matter that his stepsister was now princess of the kingdom—a well-beloved future queen. It didn’t matter that Hanna had cleared Castiel’s name, told everyone that he'd had done what little he could to help her in that hell of a house... 

_“It hurts,” Hannah sniffled. Even after all these years, it still hurt._

_Cas nodded, tears in his own eyes, but continued to wipe over her raw, peeling knuckles. “We have to clean them. If we don’t, they might get infected and hurt even more.”_

_Hannah tried to stifle her gasps and tears, her smile obviously false and more obviously painful._

_Cas had to look away._

Despite his care for Hannah, he’d been lumped in with his mother and sister. He was still, and always would be, one of the ugly step-siblings. 

Well, now he was the Ugly Stepbrother, the only target for the people’s ire. Shortly after Hannah’s marriage to the prince, Mother had sent Hester away to marry some Count, and then had followed her eldest, favorite daughter to that distant kingdom within the year. Of course, someone needed to stay and maintain the family homestead, and wouldn’t Castiel just do so well managing the estate? 

So now Castiel lived in a drafty old house—unwanted, forgotten, alone but for the few times he ventured into town for some shopping. And even then, he somehow felt even more alone, more unwanted. 

Like every other trip, he found himself wondering why he’d bothered. He should just stay home, wither away, let himself be lost to the ignominy of time. That would be easier for everyone; the townspeople would be happy to have him gone, and he’d never again have to experience their derision and hatred. 

With a sigh he propelled his feet forward. He was already here, might as well finish his shopping. Next time though...next time he wouldn’t come.

He’d just stepped into the bakery when he heard a loud, boisterous laugh burst free and fill the shop. It was a sound he’d become more familiar with as the lazy summer months had passed. He could easily recall each and every time he’d heard it, going clear back to the first time in the butcher’s shop. 

Just like then, and every time since, he could feel it flutter around his heart and tug at his soul. 

And just like those other times, he ignored the laugh. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the surly woman who glared at him from behind the large, worn counter. 

“What do you want?” the woman barked. 

“Three loaves, please,” Cas murmured, his voice low and smooth, cultivated to draw as little attention as possible. 

Another laugh erupted from across the shop, but still Cas kept his gaze fixed on the baker woman wrapping up the loaves. 

“I think this type of bread would be perfect for the festival!” the golden-warm voice exclaimed. And then it was right there, right at Cas’s elbow. “Don’t you think so, Lord Dupuis?”

Cas shifted his head, just enough to look for that voice, and had to swallow down the gasp that threatened to escape when he found the beautiful man standing right next to him. He looked back over his other shoulder, sure that he was talking to someone else— _anyone_ else. Yet he found no one there behind him. 

Why was he speaking to Cas? He’d done the same before—several times before, actually—and it was still just as confusing.

Cas slowly turned back to look up at the man who still waited for an answer. The ruckus of the bakery faded away. He felt himself being pulled into those brilliant green eyes. He’d never seen that rosy blush this close, those plush lips that parted on a soft exhalation as Cas’s gaze flickered oh-so-briefly to them. 

“I’m sure your judgment will be best in this matter, Monsieur Winchester,” Cas replied hoarsely. He pulled his gaze away, reached across the counter to drop his gold into the baker’s waiting palm, and grabbed the loaves in return. 

“Ah, but I’m so unsure of the customs in this area, being so new here,” M. Winchester pleaded, reaching up to grab Cas’s forearm, as if to keep him from fleeing. 

Only then did Cas catch sight of the flowers wrapped neatly in M. Winchester's basket. They were red, with spiked petals that grew atop a long, thin stem. _Castilleja_... Castiel had only ever seen them in sketches, because they did not grow here. They did not grow anywhere _near_ here, and yet they looked as freshly picked as if they’d bloomed right outside the baker’s front door.

Cas, realizing his silence had stretched too long and too awkward, opened his mouth to respond, to tell M. Winchester that he should have no problem finding a willing young suitor from the town to help him. As if proving Cas’s unspoken thought, the butcher’s daughter Amara stepped up on the young man’s other side. 

She ignored Cas, despite the fact that just a short while before—before the prince had come to sweep Hannah away—she’d been courting Cas herself. 

“Anything you bring will be wonderful!” She enthused, distracting M. Winchester just long enough for Cas to extract his arm and hurry for the door. 

He heard the called, “Adieu, Lord Dupuis!” but he did not turn back. 

The interaction in the bakery, brief as it may have been, was enough to leave a flustered, unsettled feeling roiling in the pit of Cas’s stomach. He hastened back into the crowd, toward the town square, which would lead him to the trail that—

He fell to the ground, dropping his basket. It rolled away, but he was too disoriented to do more than stare up at the magnificent green carriage. 

He’d been in such a hurry, looking down at the cracked road, he didn’t see the obstacle in his path until he’d smacked right into it. 

Immediately his thoughts flew to another grand carriage with golden wheels that glinted in the sunlight as it drove away...

_Cas watched from his perch in the attic. A tiny, grimy window afforded him his last glimpse of Hannah as the prince handed her into the gilded carriage. She didn’t even glance upward, not once. There was no acknowledgment for her one-time stepbrother who still held the key that had unlocked the attic door and given Hanna her freedom._

The memory was banished as an older woman poked her head from the window to glare down at Cas. “Watch where you’re going, filth!” 

The Dowager had once been one of his mother’s closest friends. Over the years, she’d visited the estate again and again, each time nodding approvingly at their treatment of Hannah, claiming it was “so good of you to let her earn her keep!” Now that everything had changed, the old woman had done all she could to distance herself from that past. 

“If you had any decency,” the woman continued to screech, drawing attention from all sides, “you’d disappear just like your worthless mother and sister!”

And then she looked around at the crowd that had gathered, as if to ensure they’d all witnessed Cas’s humiliation. And by god, they all had. A glance over Cas’s shoulder showed almost everyone had stopped their shopping. Even the crowds inside the stores had come out. And now they all stood unified together, glaring down at Cas. 

Cas caught a glimpse of that blonde hair just outside the bakery, and he felt his heart shrivel even further. To have M. Winchester see this… 

Cas jumped to his feet, leaving his basket and goods there in the road as he fled toward the narrow walking trail that would lead him back to his property. 

It would be so much easier if Hannah just told the truth, just gave him that one small kindness. But of course she hadn’t told the public everything, hadn’t shared how deeply Cas had loved her then… somehow still loved her just as deeply now.

_“Why are you always so good to me?” she whispered one late night as he again tended to her hands._

_“Because you’re family,” Cas had responded automatically. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want her to realize the change that had overcome his own emotions. Given everything that his mother and sister put her through...it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask anything of her._

_“Am I?” Hannah asked. When Castiel didn’t answer, she shook her head to answer herself. “No, not really. Naomi has never treated me like a daughter, and Rachel has never treated me like a sister.”_

_Cas blushed but kept his gaze on her hand. “Well, I suppose I just...I…” and then he trailed off._

_“I’ve never viewed you as my brother, either.”_

_He finally chanced a look into her eyes and paused at the fire he found there, the determination._

_“Hannah, I can’t...I shouldn’t ask it of you. I’m supposed to protect you, to take care of you.”_

_“I know, but lovers can protect each other too.”_

_She slowly leaned in, but Castiel turned his face away. “No! We shouldn’t.”_

_“Castiel,” she whispered, but he shook his head. She reached up to grab his face and forced his gaze back to hers. “You are the only good thing in my life, the one ray of sunshine that shines through my overcast sky. Please, please just give me this.”_

_She tugged Castiel closer, her gaze on his lips. “Just you,” she breathed. “That’s all I’d need.”_

_This time, he did not object. She pressed her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. Castiel felt his chest constrict, a mixture of joy and fulfillment and utter terror. If they were ever found out..._

_But then they parted, and she smiled at him shyly. Cas could not control his hammering heart as she whispered, “Besides, you’re not asking it. I’m giving it.”_

Now Castiel was left to endure the derision and hatred of the townspeople, forced to run from their loathing. He didn’t stroll down the winding side paths as he might have on another day, didn’t pause to inspect the wildflowers that were in full bloom, didn’t slow in the least until he was past his borders. Only when he was safely on his own land did he stop and slump onto the low stone wall, his cheeks burning with the exertion of his flight. There, in the silence of his isolation, he finally allowed the sobs to break free. 

All of them, all of those people had known what his mother was doing to Hannah. They’d known the entire time and done nothing, and now that guilt pushed them to unload as much as they could onto Cas. There was no kindness, no pity for the man who’d lost everything, absolutely _everything_ when Hannah had ridden away in a grand carriage, grander even than the Dowager’s. 

And now, only Amara held onto some decency, choosing to ignore Cas rather than spite him. Probably because she knew the truth. She knew how much Cas had to grieve. 

Castiel had only been sitting there for a moment, perhaps two, when he heard the rustling of bushes nearby. He looked up just in time to see a grey ball of fur burst from the greenery, bounding toward him. 

He sniffled and wiped a hand across his cheeks as the golden-eyed Chartreux leapt up onto his lap and butted its head against his chin. 

“Hello, my little friend,” he murmured, his voice cracking with his tears. He rubbed a gentle hand over the cat’s back. “Have you caught any tasty mice today?” 

The cat let out a satisfied _mrruh_ as it arched its spine into Cas’s hand, plodding first one way then the other across his lap. Cas brought his other hand up to scratch at its chin, then its head as it purred contentedly. 

“I’m glad you’re so happy to monopolize my time, but I need to get up to the house for my dinner. And you should probably go home too.” 

A plaintive _wrrao_ escaped as Cas gently lifted it from his lap and set it down on the wall. 

“Go home, _mon chaton_ ,” Cas urged as he resumed his trek back toward the empty estate. 

He’d only gone a few feet when he heard the telltale rustle of the grass, so foreign in his silent world. He turned to find the stubborn grey cat trailing behind. 

“So that’s how it will be then?” Cas smiled despite his tears. “Come along, I may have some fish for you.” 

The cat rushed forward and rubbed against his legs, purring happily. With a shake of his head, Cas turned and continued on to the house, the cat right on his heels. 

—

“I ought to follow you home,” Cas threatened the cat, who was devouring the small portion of grilled fish Cas had laid out for it on the counter. “Make sure they know you’ve already had a good meal.” 

The cat didn’t stop eating, but looked up at Cas, eyes narrowed as if in annoyance. Cas chuckled and took another bite of his fish.

After dinner, he cleaned the kitchen table—a rough, bulky thing where he took all his lonely meals now. Still the cat remained, licking its fur and cleaning its face. 

When he went to sit in the east drawing room, the cat followed and curled up in his lap as he read before the fire. But the usual silence of the room suddenly seemed wrong, so he began to read aloud. 

Snuggling deeper into his lap, the cat purred contentedly. 

—

The solitary days continued on. Well, they didn’t seem so solitary anymore, not with the cat that slipped in each evening and ate half of Cas’s fish and snuggled into his lap before the fire grate, listening as more and more stories slipped from Cas’s lips. 

At first he’d read from books, use other people’s words. Eventually he began to tell the cat his own stories, his own heartbreaks. 

He talked about the day the prince came for Hannah, watching them ride away in that grand carriage. He told it about how Hannah insisted that him and his mother and sister go to the wedding. He could barely manage a whisper as he told the cat about that final secret tryst…

_“Castiel!” Hannah gasped as she ran to meet him. The door had barely closed and locked before she was throwing herself into his arms and claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss._

_Cas hadn’t expected this. He’d hoped, but hadn’t expected. But now here was his Hannah, back in his arms._

_“I’ve missed you so much!” Hannah gasped as she pulled back, her red lipstick smeared across her face, and now probably Castiel’s as well._

_“Me too,” Cas breathed into the scant space between their next kisses._

_“Help me remember,” she begged. “Please, Castiel…”_

_And Cas helped them both remember until they collapsed, sprawled across the plush, giant bed. Cas rolled into Hannah’s side, unwilling to lose that contact for even a moment._

_“You look better,” he murmured. Perhaps it had been the best choice for her to come here. Much smarter than some whispered escape dream that rose from the depths of desperation._

_“Don’t I?” Hannah’s smile was bitter. Castiel almost asked, but then she tilted her head back to look up at him. “I never told you…”_

_“Told me what?” Castiel nuzzled into her dark hair, now fragrant with perfumes and dried flowers._

_“I went looking for you that night,” she whispered. He froze, his heart constricting too tight for words. “I’d heard Naomi planning to introduce you to some Countess, and I couldn’t...I couldn’t let her have you.”_

_She’d gone to the ball looking for Cas, but instead had caught the eye of a prince._

_Cas had always thought she’d wanted the prince, and that’s why she’d gone to the ball. But now, maybe..._

Cas stared into the fire grate, watching the flames crackle and burn, leaving nothing but ash. 

To have hope renewed like that, only for it to be torn away once again…Hannah had walked down the aisle the next day, her expression somber under her veil, and Castiel had forced a smile even as his heart ripped further in two. 

Tears brimmed in his eyes, threatened to spill, but then the damn cat was there, flicking at his cheek with its tail. 

Cas chuckled and batted the tail away. “All right! I’ll come up with a happier one.”

Some nights, on the nights with the happy stories, the cat purred incessantly. On other nights, the nights when Cas whispered his heartbreak and secrets, it sat in absolute silence, as if listening intently to every low syllable. 

It was unnerving, how intuitive the cat was. 

Cas always threatened to track down the owner, but the cat never seemed to believe him. Maybe because it knew that Cas would never dare such a thing. Not only would Cas be shunned, but the owner would make sure to keep their cat far, far away. And, sad and pathetic as this was for Cas to admit...he couldn’t bear to lose his only friend.

He knew he would though, as his fish store depleted into nothing. But he’d made his decision on that last visit into town, and so he refused to return. 

Why should he, when they’d all essentially confirmed what he’d long suspected: they didn’t want him there. They wanted him gone, just like his mother and sister. 

So when the cat started meowing plaintively, staring at him with its pleading eyes, Cas just offered a sad smile and shook his head. 

“No, _mon chaton_ ,” he said. “I think it is time for you to return home. They will have plenty of tasty fish for you there.” 

The cat stared at him for a long moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind, then turned and trotted out the back door, across the field of tall grass. 

Cas sighed heavily, his own stomach gurgling, but he shut the door and headed upstairs for a hungry sleep. 

—

The next morning, Cas woke with a gasp, a heavy weight in his chest. No, actually, it was _on_ his chest. He looked up to find the cat sitting there, its tail flicking with impatience. He blinked, confusion slowly spreading with wakefulness. The cat never came until evening, but here it was. 

It meowed loudly, then jumped off of him. At the doorway, it turned, waited. Only when Cas stood from his bed and started walking did it trot from the room. He followed it down the stairs, then watched as it ran to the front door and began pawing at the wood. 

Cas frowned. “I never use that door.” 

The cat glanced back at him, eyes narrowed, then turned back and continued batting. Cas rolled his eyes, but strode to the door and yanked it open all the same. 

“See, it’s just—“ he broke off when he saw what waited on the doorstep: his basket, the one he’d dropped in the market. And it was full of food. 

Atop the pile of food, though, was what really arrested his attention. There lay a single stalk of Castilleja, the flower from which Cas’s mother had stolen his name, and around its stem was tied a bright green ribbon. 

He slowly stooped and grasped the stem, staring at it as he stood straight again. His mind skipped back to the bakery, to the cluster of Castillejas in M. Winchester's basket. 

No, this couldn’t have been from him...could it have? 

Suddenly the cat was there, nosing into the basket. It bit into one of the fish and trotted back into the house, dragging its breakfast with it. 

Cas could only ask the empty air one question: “Why?”

—

The next two weeks found Cas back to his usual routine, with his days spent wandering the forest trails and his evenings feeding the cat. Well, at first it was just in the evenings that the cat would return for dinner and stories, but then it began to join him on his daily walks. 

Castiel wouldn’t talk much during the walks, instead allowing the silence of nature to reign. Sometimes he would choose a flower with some peculiarity and sit down to sketch it while the cat lay down beside him or bounded off to munch on some other flowers. It never once tried to eat a flower while he was sketching it, but once his sketch was done, it’d pounce on the flower and nibble on the petals like any other plant. 

One day during their walk, the cat bounded down a side path that was so narrow and dark, it could hardly be qualified as a _path_. 

“Now where are you going?” Castiel muttered as he reluctantly followed. 

The path was old, given the way it was grown over, and that made it more treacherous than most. More than once Castiel’s foot was caught on a root or his hair was tangled by a branch or his cheek was scraped by a hedge. Eventually though, the path broke open into a clearing, and Castiel gasped. 

There, in the clearing, were dozens of flowers, all of different species, all of different colors, all of different classifications. What really awed Castiel was the fact that the flowers were all of different _climates_. As in, they should not have been growing there; they were from all over the world, such as _lobelia_ from the Americas, or the _prunus mume_ of Asia. All just like the Castilleja Cas had seen in M. Winchester’s basket...And that very flower grew tall and vibrant in the center of the wildflower garden.

Castiel carefully stepped between the flowers, pausing to inspect one here or another there. All of the flowers thrived, despite the fact that some of them should never have been able to grow together in the same space. 

Yet they all bloomed.

Once Castiel had reached the other edge of the clearing, where he could be safe from crushing any flowers, he settled down on the grass and pulled out his sketchbook. There were so many flowers that begged for his attention, but Castiel ignored them in favor of the Castilleja.

He was vaguely aware of the cat pouncing around, chasing butterflies that flitted through, but once he got into his sketching, the outside world melted away. It had always been this way with him, something that Hannah had often teased him about. 

_“I feel I should be jealous,” Hannah murmured drowsily from her spot beside him._

_“How so?”_

_“We came out here to spend time together,” Hannah poked his side, “and all you’ve done is sketch.”_

_Castiel glanced up from his journal, a blush staining his cheeks. “Sorry, you’re right. Where were we?”_

_She smiled cheekily and reached up to yank him down. “I believe,” she kissed him, “we were right about here.”_

Now, there was no Hannah to distract him. Hours passed, and still he sketched. It wasn’t until the bushes across the clearing began to rustle that Castiel remembered that there _was_ an outside world.

He looked up, expecting the cat, but froze when something, or rather, some _one_ , much larger than a cat stepped through—M. Winchester. 

Castiel jumped up, ready to bolt, but then the handsome man was smiling at him, and crying out, “Lord Dupuis!” 

“I am so sorry,” Castiel mumbled as he began to gather up his supplies. “They’re just...they’re so beautiful, and I just wanted to—“

“My lord,” Winchester interrupted. “It’s a forest, it’s open to anyone.” He took a step forward, but still the entire clearing separated them. “Please, continue with your sketches. I’d just like to tend to the flowers, so long as I’m not in your way.” 

“Oh, um...you...you could never be, I mean…” Castiel paused and took a deep breath. “I apologize. You won’t disturb my work, no,” he assured Dean. “Are you sure _you_ don’t mind?”

The younger man smiled and shook his head. “Of course not.” 

And so Castiel settled back down in his spot to continue sketching, but he found it a much more difficult task now. How could he possibly focus with M. Winchester right there? 

More than once, his gaze was caught by the young man’s gentle movements as he tended to the flowers. More than once, Dean would glance his way, as if he knew Cas watched him. More than once, Cas would look back down at his sketch, blushing at being caught.

All too soon, Castiel had finished his sketch and began to pack up his bag. He had so many things he wanted to say to the other man, so many questions that demanded answers for no other reason than his own curiosity’s sake. 

He limited himself to one: “How do you get them to grow here?” 

M. Winchester seemed surprised at his voice, but then smiled. “I’ve always been good at growing things.” 

“But there’s a difference at being good at something and achieving the impossible,” Castiel countered. 

The man blushed and shrugged. “Is it impossible, though?” 

Castiel chuckled. “Most botanists would say so, yes.”

“But what if…” M. Winchester’s gaze flitted up to meet Cas’s, capturing him. “It isn't really so impossible for flowers from two separate worlds to bloom together, no matter what the...the _botanists_ might say. Even if they say it’s wrong.” 

Castiel froze, his heart picking up its pace, his palms turning clammy. 

Did M. Winchester mean what Cas thought he meant? Castiel couldn’t help but stare at him, at the blush along his cheek and the mysterious light in his eyes. That gaze looked so...so...so _knowing_. Like he knew about Castiel and—

The realization crackled through Castiel like ice, coating his heart and soul, leaving him numb: Amara had told him.

That must be it. Amara had told M. Winchester about Castiel’s secrets, which meant that Amara and the younger man were having...intimate conversations–the kind that came with long hours spent together. It had finally happened: Amara was courting the beautiful young man.

Castiel wasn't sure which truth pained him more: that Amara had revealed his secrets to this kind soul, or that she’d begun courting him. Either thought was unbearable. 

Castiel took one slow step back and then another. “Thank you for allowing me to sketch your garden, M. Winch—“

“Dean,” the man interrupted, his voice suddenly hoarse with something Cas couldn’t identify. “My name is Dean.” 

Castiel nodded, and opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t use M. Winchester’s first name, wouldn’t dare to presume... He shouldn’t be permitted to, so instead he bowed and backed out of the clearing. 

Castiel had made it halfway home before he realized that the cat was back at his side. It sat with him during an unusually silent dinner where Castiel didn’t touch his food at all, and when he moved to the east parlor, it trailed him like usual. Cas built up the fire in the grate then settled in his chair, allowing the cat to claim its spot on his lap. Only then did Castiel allow the dam to break free.

“Amara must have told him,” Cas whispered through his tears. “I can’t believe she...after she promised.”

Sobs began to wrack his body as he allowed his grief to flow free. Still the cat stayed in his lap. 

“Why does it even matter?” Cas questioned when he could speak again. “It’s not like M. Winchester would ever want me, no matter if he knows the truth or not.” 

Castiel didn’t deserve anything from anyone, much less that beautiful soul. That was truly impossible—it always had been and always would be. Castiel would ruin him.

“He’s so good...he must be. Only a good person could make those flowers grow like that.” He sighed softly. “And he is beautiful, isn’t he?”

The cat meowed plaintively, and Cas smiled. “You saw him today! His eyes were so green, just like his plants.”

His gaze returned to the fire as his weak smile slipped away. “Even if I somehow managed to not ruin him…” He sucked in a deep breath. “No, he’d leave me.” He looked down at the cat. “Everyone does eventually, and when he does…” Castiel gulped, fresh tears rising. “I can’t go through that, not again. I think it’d actually kill me this time.”

The cat meowed, a sad sound if ever Cas had heard one, and he scoffed softly. “You’re right. Why am I even worrying about this? He’d never want me. Plus, if Amara told him...they must be courting.”

Eventually, as Cas’s eyelids began to droop further and further, he forced himself from the chair. He meant to trudge toward the back door to let the cat out, but it did something different. 

Instead of following him, it turned and trotted toward the stairs that led up to the bedroom. So that night, when Castiel laid himself down to sleep, the cat was there, curled into a ball on the pillow beside Cas’s. 

But then the food began to run low again, with Cas skimping more and more on his own servings to keep the cat fed. The cat somehow seemed annoyed by this. Cas ignored its glares. 

This time, though, it seemed there would be no hunger at all, not even a night’s worth. Another basket arrived the day before Cas’s food supply depleted, again with a single stalk of Castilleja tied atop. Now it was the same basket _M. Winchester_ had been carrying that day in the bakery. 

Cas frowned. Obviously something was amiss. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that M. Winchester was the only person new enough to town to not hate Cas. 

Again, Castiel was left with one question: _why_?

Why wouldn’t M. Winchester just let Cas fade away? He had to know from the others in town how deplorable a human being Cas was. Cas knew M. Winchester talked to them all frequently, for he was always in town, or at least he had been whenever Cas was there. 

But still he gave Cas supplies... 

No, it wouldn’t do. It must be some joke orchestrated between him and Amara.

Cas slammed the door without touching the basket. 

The cat, which had somehow snuck in the back, meowed loudly, plaintively. Cas rolled his eyes again and opened the door. 

“Have at it, _mon chaton_.” And then he walked back into the house, leaving the door wide open for the very confused cat. 

The next morning, a different basket was there; and a different one the next; and a different one the next. Cas never closed his front door now, instead leaving it open in case the cat wanted some food...or at least, that’s what he told himself. Part of him hoped to catch M. Winchester delivering the food, but he could never quite manage it. 

For a week, the insufferable man left basket after basket, each one fresh, each with another flower, despite the fact that Cas left them there. Perhaps Dean continued dropping them there because he saw the missing bits that Cas would finally take to satiate his desperate hunger each evening. 

But Cas didn’t need anyone’s pity; he had more than enough money to buy his own food. It should be obvious that this starvation was his own choosing. If he wanted to waste away, he should be allowed to, without anyone’s interference...especially not from M. Winchester!

So on the seventh day, he decided to put a stop to this. Obviously M. Winchester was misinformed about his circumstances. That was probably Cas’s own fault; he never wore any of his fine clothes anymore, hadn’t since his mother had left. Today though, he donned a blue waistcoat that brought out his eyes and brightened his complexion.

He used his front door to take the main road that led right into town, not the back paths that kept him away from the crowds, with M. Winchester's latest basket hung over one arm. The entire trek was spent practicing his simple speech: “While I appreciate your generosity, it is unnecessary. I do not need gifts, especially those extending from pity.” 

He’d prepared himself for this visit, plastered on his best flat expression and mental guards for people’s inevitable derision. But when he stepped into the town square, he found that no one actually paid him any mind. No, they were all watching the man who held court at the center of the square—the very man Cas had come to see. 

“Several of you have asked for me to accompany you to the festival next week,” he announced, gesturing to a cluster of young suitors before him, of whom Amara was obviously the most striking. An excited murmur ran through the crowd, but M. Winchester continued easily. “Yet I don’t feel I know you all well enough to really choose…so I propose a contest.” 

The murmur rose to a fever pitch, but he held up a hand for silence. 

“Some of you may have seen my cat slinking around...it’s grey with golden eyes.” 

Cas’s heart stopped. The cat that had been eating his fish and snuggling into his lap and sleeping on his pillow was...it was…it was _M. Winchester's_. He found himself even more grateful that he’d never tracked down its owner.

“Whoever can bring me the key around its neck will escort me to the festival.” 

And as the crowd burst into excited discussion, M. Winchester looked past them all, right at Cas, and asked, “Does that seem a fair prize, Lord Dupuis?” 

Cas’s cheeks heated as his gaze became inescapably caught by bright green, a color that matched the ribbon around the Castilleja in the basket he held. He could only stare as the beautiful man walked right toward him, the crowd somehow parting easily for his measured steps. 

It was only when M. Winchester stood right before him that Cas was finally able to murmur, “It is your contest, M. Win—“

The man again placed a gentle hand on Cas’s forearm, just as he had in the bakery. “Won’t you please call me Dean?” 

Cas stared at him for several long seconds, a flush rising up his neck. He glanced around, expecting to see derision and anger from the crowd, especially now that he was monopolizing the man’s attention, but no one even seemed to notice them. He looked back to M. Winchester. 

“Would it be appropriate?” he finally mumbled. M. Winchester’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Castiel hurried to explain. “Given that you’re courting Amara?”

Dean’s smile returned. “What in the world gave you that idea?” He chuckled. “I’m not courting anyone, although I do have my eye on a particular gentleman.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You do?” Immediately he realized his gaffe, and cleared his throat. “I mean...M. Win—“ At the other man’s disapproving look, he corrected himself. “Dean—”

Dean broke in. “Wonderful! And might I call you Castiel?” 

“I prefer Cas,” he replied without thinking. 

“Cas,” Dean echoed with a soft smile, the name tripping off his tongue. He gestured towards the basket Cas held. “And I see you are receiving my baskets. Why haven’t you—“

Cas remembered his mission, and the practiced speech tumbled from his lips. “While I appreciate your generosity, it is unnecessary. I do not need gifts, especially those given out of pity.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Pity?” He shook his head. “Oh no! I’m so sorry if you thought…” he smiled again. “Perhaps I should’ve explained: they’re a thank you, for feeding my cat.” 

“Oh,” Cas murmured. So it wasn’t what he’d assumed. M. winchester didn’t actually care for him, even in a misguided way. No...Why would he? Cas felt exponentially more foolish than he ever had in his life. “I see…” 

“I believe you’re the one feeding him? Your home is nearest to mine.” 

Cas’s brow furrowed. “Where do you live?” 

“In the cottage up the path from you.” 

He’d been so near this entire time...but what did it matter? To him, Cas wasn’t even someone to pity. No, to him, Cas was but a neighbor to thank. 

“Well, you’re welcome,” Cas answered woodenly. He held out the basket. “But the food is still unnecessary.” 

For the first time, Dean frowned. “But you don’t have...I mean, I haven’t seen you in town for a few weeks now. How have you been buying your food?” 

He seemed truly upset for Cas, a veritable stranger. A heart so kind deserved so much more than an ugly-stepbrother, even if just as a neighbor.

“Please don’t worry yourself about me,” Cas pleaded. He gestured toward the crowd, to the cluster of young hopefuls eyeing each other warily, but all glaring at Amara with her tall, willowy posture that spoke of disdain and conceit. “You have a contest to commence.” 

When it became obvious that Dean would not take the basket, Cas set it down on the ground. With a final dip of his head to the other man, he turned and used that same main road to return to his empty house. 

—

That evening, when the cat came to his door, it had the promised key tied to a string around its neck. 

“How do you expect your master to find an escort if you continue to hide here?” he chided even as he set the plate in front of it. 

Once they were back in the east drawing room, it jumped onto his lap as usual, but this time it began to rub its spine against his shirt. Cas ran a hand over its fur, along its back, under its chin. His fingers brushed the cool metal of the key, and he gasped, tugging his hand back quickly. The cat lifted its chin, the key glinting in the fire’s light, and pressed forward as if to bring it right to his fingers again. 

“I know, it’s probably annoying you,” he murmured. “But I won’t be the one to take it off.”

As they played this game—him pulling his hand away, the cat chasing it with the key—his decision grew clearer in his mind.

The cat meowed in annoyance. Cas shook his head. 

“Don’t you understand?” he whispered. “He deserves someone amazing, someone good. Not me. I’m just the ugly-stepbrother, don’t you see? Everyone who doesn’t hate me has forgotten me.” 

And that was the truth. Earlier that day, when he’d gone into town, no one had even _looked_ at him, cared enough to sneer at him like usual. He’d been completely forgotten by the townspeople, just like he had been by his own family. 

The cat seemed to be studying him. It tried one final time, but Cas finally took its head in his hands and met its gaze. “It won’t be long now until I just, I just... And, I mean, your master shines so brightly. Someone that bright should never be with someone who’s already fading away.” 

After several long minutes of petting, Cas pushed the cat from his lap and stood with a stretch. It trotted out the parlor door, toward the staircase that would take them up to his bedroom, as it had so many other nights.

It was obviously shocked, if its little _wrrao_ was anything to go by, when Cas scooped it up and carried it to the back door. 

“No more, you silly thing,” he murmured. “Your home is just up the lane, as is your wonderful owner.” He opened the back door. “Goodbye, _mon chaton_. Make sure you don’t let anyone but the best catch you, for his sake.” He gently set it down on the back stoop and shut the door between them. 

Ignoring the immediate wails of protest, he walked back into the house and climbed the stairs to his frigid, empty room. But even there he could hear the cat’s cries, so he buried his face in his pillow and cried right along with it. 

—

When he woke the next morning, the cat was still on the back stoop. Had it gone home? Had it eaten?

He wanted so badly to let it back in, but he didn’t dare. He knew it would eventually leave to get food, shelter. 

For three days he watched from the upper windows as the cat paced in circles around his house again and again, stopping every few minutes to yell in complaint. Still, he did not open the door. It would understand eventually. 

He knew it was getting food, since it slipped away every day for a bit, but it’d always be quickly back to pace and cry. Cas found he’d even gotten used to the noise by the fourth day. 

But on the fifth day, a new sound arose, so painful and wrenching that Cas gasped. The cat was crying out in real pain...

He ran to the window, but could not see the cat. Another cry arose, more pain-filled and pleading than the last. He knew it was somewhere in the tall grass.

He ran down the stairs and threw the kitchen door open, just as the cat screeched again. 

“ _Mon chaton_!” 

He raced through the grass, following the cries, until he found it. The cat lay sprawled on the ground, its body shaking with frantic gasps, its tail twitching in agitation. 

One of its rear paws was caught in a trap, coated in blood.

“What?” he gasped. “Who did this to you?” He studied the device, hoping to find a way to release the mechanism. He tried tugging, pushing, punching the lever on the side, but nothing happened. 

A rifle cocked above him, and the sound immediately froze his frantic hands. He slowly brought his gaze to stare up the barrel, right into Amara’s dark gaze. 

“Step away, Castiel. That key is mine!” 

Cas’s mouth dropped open. “You trapped it...you _hurt_ it...for the key?”

“Back away, or I will shoot you!” 

“You wouldn’t shoot someone over a damn cat!” 

“Not the cat...the key.” She grinned manically. “And if I did shoot you, you know no one would do anything about it. They might even give me an award!” 

Cas held up his hands in an appeal. “Please,” he murmured. “I’ll give you the key, just let me free the cat so I can take care of its leg.” 

Amara kept the gun trained on Cas. 

“Please, Amara. I’ll even let you grab the key yourself, if you want.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to do this...he won’t honor the contest for someone who hurt his cat.” 

Amara frowned uncertainly, and Cas pressed his advantage. “I’ll get it all better, and he won’t have to know a thing.”

Dropping the gun to her side, Amara grinned. “You always were a crafty one, _mon amour_.”

She ignored the way Cas flinched at her endearment, instead reaching for the cat. With a tug, she snapped the key away and tucked it in her pocket as she pointed toward a small button on the side. “If you press on that, at the same time as the lever there, it will release.” 

She stood and walked backwards toward the edge of the property. “A single word of this, and I will tell everyone what you really are.” 

Cas nodded. He knew well enough from their brief courtship that what Amara promised, she did. There fell no idle words from her lips. 

As soon as she was out of sight, Cas pressed the minuscule button to release the cat’s paw. It meowed in protest, even as it tugged its leg in, trying to protect itself. 

“I’m so sorry, _mon chaton_. So, so sorry.” 

He gently picked up the cat and, cradling it against his chest, carried it into the house. After laying it out on the kitchen table, he ran gentle hands over its fur to check for other injuries, but the damage seemed limited to its paw. 

Cas spent the next hour tending to the injury, trying to remember the old healing words he’d learned from Hannah. The cat just lay there, staring out the window, not responding to any of his soft words or gentle touches. Not even his tears or desperate pleas could gain a response. 

Finally finished, he once again scooped the cat into his arms and carried it upstairs to his bedroom. Laying it gently on its usual pillow, he stripped and slipped under the covers. 

“Don’t worry, my pet.” He turned to face it. “Tomorrow morning I will return you home and tell Dean what happened.” 

The cat’s golden gaze finally flickered toward him, studying his sad smile. 

“Better me than him, right?” 

And that was the simple truth of it. Amara was cruel, even to her lovers—as Cas had first-hand knowledge. He couldn’t allow Dean to be pulled in by her beautiful smile and charming words, because once those were gone...Dean’s life would be nothing but pain and misery, a farce. 

It had been even worse for Cas, because he hadn’t even been able to _pretend_ to feel something for the woman. It had infuriated Amara to no end, until that day she’d walked in on Cas and Hannah. And now she understood Cas more perfectly than anyone else ever had or ever could, just as Cas understood her. 

That’s why he couldn’t allow her to win, not this time. 

And really, Cas was already shunned by society. What would one more strike against his name mean in the face of so much hatred? Plus, if Amara told the _whole_ truth...well, the prince might not feel too kindly toward Cas after that. He might even just make the entire thing, including Cas himself, disappear. 

Better Cas endure that miserable end now than Dean find it later at Amara’s hands.

—

When Cas woke in the morning, blinking his eyes open with the early sun, he turned to check on the cat. 

With a screech, he fell from the bed, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. 

“M. Winchester!” 

Dean, sitting where the cat had been the night before, cocked his head at an angle and smiled. 

The graceful, beautiful, _naked_ man slid from the bed. He was completely bare, apart from a bloody bandage on his ankle. He walked toward Cas, the slightest limp marring his gait. 

“I thought we agreed, Cas, that you’d call me by my given name.”

Cas was hyperventilating. “Yes! But we never said naked!” 

“What nonsense,” Dean chastised. “You’ve seen me naked several times now.” 

His words clicked in Cas’s brain. No...no, no, no! This had to be a joke, a cruel joke orchestrated by Amara. She must have realized Cas’s desires for Dean and orchestrated this prank. 

Cas looked around, trying to find the cat. “Did Amara put you up to this?”

Dean cocked his head curiously. “Amara?”

“She must have!” Cas reasoned. “She’s the only one who would…” he looked up at the man, tears brimming in his eyes. “I promise, I was never going to do anything about it,” he rambled. “I tried to stay away, but you just—“

He looked back to Dean and froze when he found the other man’s pain clearly etched into his expression as he asked, “Why not?” 

“What?” Cas squeaked as Dean, still naked, took another step closer.

“Why weren’t you going to do anything?” Dean whispered. “Do you not...do you not…” it was like he had to force the words out. “Do you not _want_ me?”

“No!” Cas burst out, and Dean visibly flinched. “I mean, that’s not what I...” Dean took a step back, and something in Cas’s mind recognized that if Dean left now, Cas would never again see him. Panic drove him to his feet. 

“Of course I want you!” Cas confessed. “How could I not want you?” 

Dean stopped his retreat, eyeing Cas warily. “Then why wouldn’t you just say something?”

“Because...because…” Cas struggled to find the words. 

But then the memory of his last conversation with _the cat_ popped into his head. He pointed at Dean. “If you are what I think you are, then you’ll know I already told you my reasons the other night!” 

With another two steps, Dean was right in front of Cas to take hold of his hand. 

“You gave me your _excuses_ the other night,” he replied, a soft smile finally lifting his mouth. “And I’m tired of fighting this, of chasing you.”

“Chasing me?” Cas breathed. “You were chasing…” He brought a trembling hand up to Dean’s jaw and stroked a soft thumb over his cheek. 

Dean leaned into the touch, a slow smile starting as he nuzzled into Cas’s palm. “And now I’ve finally caught you.” 

Despite the insanity of the circumstances, the action was so familiar. It reminded Cas of long, quiet evenings spent before the fire grate. 

Cas finally met his green gaze, really _looked_ at him. “If you are what you say you are…”

“A warlock,” Dean supplied. 

Cas gulped. “A warlock,” he echoed, “then tell me something only the cat would know...something I told it about Hannah.”

Dean’s playful expression slipped away. He nodded and, with a sigh, shared a memory that obviously pained him: “The only reason you helped your mother hide her from the prince that day was because you didn’t want her to leave. You loved her too much, and you knew she would never love him like she loved you.”

Cas stared at him, the words running on a loop through his mind, until his heart could finally accept, even if his mind could not yet totally understand. “You really are...you’re a shapeshifter.”

“Yes,” Dean replied with a roll of his eyes, but the sarcasm was offset with a gentle touch to Cas’s hair. “And, as an actual warlock, I can say with full authority that your excuses from the other night are absolutely silly.”

“They’re not excuses,” Cas tried weakly, even as his free hand finally slipped around Dean’s back to brush along his bare skin. “You really are...you’re so bright, and beautiful and you’re…you’re...”

Dean brought his lips to hover over Cas’s, tempting him, _testing_ him. “I’m yours,” he whispered. “And you’re mine.” 

“I am?” 

“I’ve known it since the first time I saw you,” Dean admitted.

Cas, who felt he was regaining a grasp on his sanity, frowned. “In the butcher’s shop?” 

Dean smiled indulgently. “No. I saw you before that, in my other form. I thought...well, I thought it’d be instinctual for you too. But when I tried to talk to you in town, you ran away!” 

“You made me nervous!” Cas admitted. “You were...are so perf—”

“Oh, stop with that!” Dean interrupted. “I’m no such thing. I'm arrogant, impatient, sarcastic...as you can probably attest to.”

Cas thought back on all those evenings with the cat, its annoyed glares and puffed fur. Now that he knew it had been a sentient being that entire time, he could easily identify the traits Dean spoke of. 

“It’s all a bit odd, but yes...I think I can see it,” Cas agreed. “You were a very persistent little thing.”

Dean smirked. “I figured that if I wanted to get to you, I’d need to spend some time as the cat.” He tightened his hold around Cas. “And it worked like a charm, yes?”

“I suppose, but how can you—“ Cas broke off in a gasp as Dean’s teeth scraped down his neck. “How can you love someone like me?”

“Like this.” 

And then soft lips were claiming Cas’s in a firm kiss. 

There was no hesitation now. Cas moaned, a hungry, desperate noise, and tugged the other man in tighter. It felt like he was melding his very soul to Dean’s as he grabbed that soft hair and took control of the kiss. But even as Cas finally gave in to his desire, one question still remained in his scattered mind. 

He broke away to whisper: “Why now?”

Dean chased after his mouth, but Cas dodged away. 

“Why now?” He repeated. “Why today?” 

Dean brought trembling fingers to stroke down Cas’s cheek.“You were ready to give up your secret…to expose the royal family to scandal, all to protect me.” His breath hitched. “Only a fool would miss such obvious signs.” 

Yes, only a fool. A fool, such as Cas had been. But now, with Dean curled into him, with those green eyes staring at him adoringly, Cas knew he’d never miss the signs again. 

—

Several long hours later, Cas was propped up on his pillows, Dean curled into his side. 

“I knew you’d be perfect for me,” Dean whispered. His tongue slipped out to lap at Cas’s neck.

“Did you?” He slid a hand into Dean’s hair, holding him there against his cooling skin. 

“I could sense it, from the start. You’d give me exactly what I needed.” Dean shifted back just enough to meet Cas’s steady gaze as he admitted, “At first I was worried, though.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if you’d ever get over her.” 

“You were worried about _that_?” Cas asked. 

Dean jerked away from Cas to throw his arms out. “Of course! She's an actual princess! Someday she’ll be the queen, and I’m just some…you know, and she, she—“

Cas pulled him back in, this time curving to wrap a leg over Dean’s hip, keeping Dean in place as he met his gaze levelly. “Don’t ever think that,” he whispered. “She left, she chose him.”

“But I thought,” Dean started, confused. “I thought she tried to run away with you? When you spoke of that last night, it seemed...”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “No. I asked, but she just…” He let out a deep sigh. “She didn’t...”

_Castiel laid there for a long while, his mind whirring as Hannah cuddled against him._

_“We could still do it,” he whispered softly. “We could still run away.”_

_Hannah froze, and then she slowly pulled back, not to look up at him, but to move away, out of his arms._

_“Castiel, I...I…” she glanced down, not meeting his eyes. “I think it’s time for you to return to your own room. I have a long day planned tomorrow.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, an apologetic smile offsetting her damp eyes. “I’m getting married, you know.”_

Dean’s expression was sorrowful, but Castiel smiled at him. With Dean here, Hannah was but a distant, painful memory. 

“She left, but you stayed.” Cas pressed a kiss behind Dean’s ear. “Even when I tried to push you away, you stayed.”

“I had to,” Dean admitted. “We belong to each other.” 

Cas chuckled. “I feel there’s more significance to that than I can currently comprehend.” 

“You have no idea!” Dean muttered. “For years, it was always ‘You’ll know when you see them!’ and ‘Don’t give up.’”

He looked up at Cas. “And I finally just...I couldn’t take it anymore. So I ran away and chose a random village to settle down in.” A smile graced his lips. “And when I went to explore that very next day, I saw you. You were walking through the forest, bending to study the plants and flowers for nothing but their beauty. And I just knew...I finally felt it.” 

Cas smiled sadly. “And here I was, running away from you.” 

“That was a little painful, yes,” Dean admitted. “But when you began to befriend me as a cat, I knew I still had a chance to be yours.” 

Cas rolled to cover him completely, dipping to take his mouth in a hungry kiss. “Always,” he gasped when he broke away. “ _Mon chaton_.”

—

Amara never did find M. Winchester to claim her prize. The story was that he had slipped away in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind...including his cat, which now lived at Lord Dupuis’s estate. 

As the months passed, Lord Dupuis visited the town with his former regularity, once every couple weeks to purchase food. He seemed to buy so much for just himself, but no one ever mentioned it. Somehow, he didn’t seem to care anymore about their snide remarks or nasty glances. 

When the princess—no longer just Hannah, but more widely known as Her Royal Highness—finally passed through on her first royal tour of the kingdom, she and her entourage stopped off at the old Dupuis Estate, of course. She later commented on how intuitive the cat seemed—but she never mentioned how it refused to leave Cas’s side for a moment, how it growled in warning every time she tried to touch him. For the entire awkward visit, the cat watched her with its golden eyes, its expression far too knowing for comfort. 

“Your cat is quite lovely, if just a bit overprotective,” she praised as Lord Dupuis saw her to the door. 

Cas smiled a soft smile, so like the smiles he used to share with Hannah herself. “He protects me, yes.” 

Only a few months later, the townspeople stopped seeing Lord Dupuis altogether. It took another several weeks for anyone to go check on the estate, with full expectations of finding him dead in some upstairs bedroom. 

Instead they found the house abandoned, doors thrown wide open for the public to enter. 

The rooms were still fully furnished with priceless antiques, the open chests filled with gold and heirlooms, the jewelry boxes overflowing with diamonds and a multiplicity of other gems. 

After searching the entire house, top to bottom, bottom to top, they agreed that Lord Dupuis had finally left. 

They didn’t know where he’d gone or how he would survive there, given that he’d taken almost nothing with him. In fact, he’d left _everything_ behind.

Everything, it seemed, except the cat.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story was initially written with an original female protagonist who had once been in love with her stepsister Cinderella, but who now fell in love with a sorceress who was a shapeshifter (also an original character). I never really meant to publish it, but I decided to play around with it some, and it ended up a Destiel/Cinderella au type thing. 
> 
> Please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed.


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